


Security

by gildedfrost, oloros



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cabins, Christmas, Confessions, Gen, Identity Reveal, Secret Identity, Skiing, Snow, Snowed In, Traditions, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28077726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildedfrost/pseuds/gildedfrost, https://archiveofourown.org/users/oloros/pseuds/oloros
Summary: “We’re renting a ski cabin,” Gavin says during lunch at work. Connor peers at the tablet from over his shoulder. “You wanna split the cost? Hey, Anderson, listen to me. One-week getaway, back before Christmas, and you can bring your mutt.”
Relationships: Connor & Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson & Gavin Reed
Comments: 17
Kudos: 63
Collections: New ERA Discord: Festival of Prompts





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [New Era Discord server](https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm) winter prompts. 
> 
> Chapters 1 & 3 by gildedfrost  
> Chapters 2 & 4 by oloros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Skiing

“We’re renting a ski cabin,” Gavin says during lunch at work. Connor peers at the tablet from over his shoulder. “You wanna split the cost? Hey, Anderson, listen to me. One-week getaway, back before Christmas, and you can bring your mutt.”

Hank hasn’t had a vacation in a long time. Years, at least, since he last traveled for leisure, and that was with Mary at his side and Cole in the back seat. All his days off since have been filled with chores at best and alcohol at worst.

When he found himself with two weeks of free time between gigs at the end of the year, his schedule was filled with errands and sleeping in. The invitation throws a wrench in those plans, but hell, why not? He’s got some money to burn. They make the trip north out of Detroit, rent some ski gear, and check into their cabin.

Sumo plods through the snow outside. There’s just enough to go skiing, and the cabin is built for far more snow—the base of the cabin is over a foot tall, with steps leading up to the front door—but it’s forecast to snow. They may get lucky and have more to work with later this week. There are other cabins down the road, but they have a fair bit of privacy given the distance between them. The ski lodge is only a few miles away. Distantly, a party of five plays in the snow.

“You good?” Hank asks Connor, standing beside him at the gentle crest of the bunny hill outside their place. Gavin’s still plodding slowly up towards them in his skis. “It’s alright to be nervous your first time.”

“You know I’m capable of more than I look. I have no doubts about my own ability to pick up a new skill.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen you showing off at the gym. But it’s not the same. Gavin and I can give you some pointers. Come on, let’s go down together.” Hank bumps his elbow against Connor’s.

Tensa Security, their mutual employer, holds all their guards to the same standards of physical fitness. Hank barely managed to whip himself into shape after he finally got axed from the DPD, but Connor makes it look effortless, young and healthy as he is. Gavin, being ex-military, works out the hardest of the bunch, the routine drilled into him by his years of service.

Hank’s not sure about the story behind that one, but he suspects it’s got something to do with the US military bringing on massive amounts of androids, given the way Gavin sneers at them. Or maybe that’s just how the guy is: Brash, bitter, and barking at whatever he can.

“There’s nothing fun about the bunny hill,” Connor says. He looks dubiously at the slope. “At an angle this shallow, the maximum speed is too slow to be thrilling, and without obstacles or a path to follow, it isn’t engaging.”

Gavin reaches them and clinks one of his poles against Connor’s. “You say that now. What about when you slam face-first into a tree?”

“I won’t.”

“Then prove it, dumbass.”

“Very well,” Connor says. He peers down the slope, lips pursed like he’s studying it way too hard, and then pushes off down the side. As predicted, he glides along without issue, barely even wavering.

“That guy has got to chill,” Gavin grumbles, before following behind, crouching low to get a tiny bit more speed.

When Hank reaches the bottom and the other two look at him, he sighs and relents. “Fine. We’ll go up to the next hill, but if either of you falls over, don’t come crying to me.”

* * *

They manage to find a diner a few miles away for a late lunch. As much as the three of them tend to jab at each other, there’s one thing they can agree on, and that’s good food. For the most part.

“Twelve hundred calories, Hank,” Connor says once the android waiter leaves with their order. “How much grease do you think is in that thing?”

“Enough to make it taste good. Air fried onion rings do not taste like the real thing.” He skims down the menu to find Connor’s dish. “Your salad is definitely going to be less healthy than it sounds.”

Connor wrinkles his nose. “Maybe that was the wrong way to open a conversation.”

“Not like you can talk about how exciting lettuce is,” Gavin says.

“And we don’t want to hear about the benefits of kale,” Hank adds. “So, who wants to bet on the odds of us getting called back early?”

Gavin groans dramatically. “Don’t you fucking dare. Phillips is gonna hear you all the way from here and find a way to call us in for Christmas. I just wanna get through the new year, man. I don’t want that holiday traffic.”

“Have you ever done a gig over the holidays?” Connor asks. While Hank and Gavin have been working at Tensa for years, Connor’s only been there since May, joining after being laid off from his last company thanks to androids.

Hank nods. “I don’t think it’s likely, but if some club or jewelry store or rich asshole needs bodies last-minute, there’s a chance. Pays more, though, so you’d be one step closer to a mortgage, but you’d miss out on family time.”

The waiter stops by with their drinks—water for Connor, beer for the others—and Connor says, “I’m not close to my family anymore. If I get called in, I won’t mind. But it’s nice to not have a night shift anymore.”

“The sun’s down by like three, nowadays. They’re all night shifts,” Gavin says.

“It’s nice to see the sunlight,” Connor amends. “And to enjoy the great Michigan outdoors before we’ve had our first snow in the city.”

Hank scoffs. “Snow in Detroit is fucking awful. Slush for days. Our only saving grace is they know how to salt the roads.”

“Come on, we’re on vacation. Surely there are better things to think about than a shitty commute,” Connor says.

“Right back at you with the nutrition facts. You know I’m working off those calories, anyway.”

“I’m not judging,” Connor says, raising his hands defensively. “I apologize for the misunderstanding.”

“Your pseudo-vegetarian diet sure makes it come off that way. No offense,” Gavin says. “I just don’t know how the fuck you get your protein.”

“Believe it or not, it’s entirely possible to intake a sufficient amount of protein without chugging whey shakes. Oh, thank you,” Connor says as the waiter sets a basket of bread rolls on the table. Gavin tears into one immediately.

Hank grabs one to nibble on, mouth already watering. He’s already about to get indigestion from the burger, no need to make it worse by shoving rolls in his mouth. Or by thinking too much about the android waiter, bright blue indicators on its outfit almost putting him off his appetite. It’s a shame a place like this hasn’t bothered to hire more humans. Maybe it’s the appeal of a worker who will never tire or get cold, or the marketing to visitors from out of state. At least they’re not staying in the resort nearby, where they’ve got androids ever present to make sure the guests are settled in nicely and to clean the place.

That, and the fact that they’ve got a fireplace that doesn’t have to be shared with twenty other families, makes the cabin a far superior option.

“How old are you, exactly?” Hank asks between bites. The bread has the helpful side effect of keeping him from reaching for the beer too quickly. The last thing he needs is to get himself day drunk.

“Thirty. Why?”

No wonder the kid’s so nice to androids. Not just the waiter here, but any others they’ve encountered in the course of their work. He’s hardly known life without them. “Thirty years in Michigan without going skiing? What kind of parents did you have?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” Connor shrugs. “I have everything I need without them.”

“What do you have besides your shitty apartment?” Gavin asks through a mouthful of bread.

“For starters, I have a car that doesn’t belong in an antique museum.”

“I don’t want a computer driving me around, thank you very much,” Hank says.

“I’m pretty sure that thing’s older than me.”

“So am I, and you keep me around.”

“We’re paid to,” Gavin points out.

Hank grins. “If you hadn’t noticed, we’re off the clock.”

“We’re friends,” Connor offers. “The three of us. Right?”

Gavin makes a noncommittal sound. “Ehh…”

“Don’t see why not,” Hank says. This vacation should do them all some good, between the fun, fresh air, and quality bonding time. So long as they aren’t completely incompatible housemates, that is. “Sumo likes you both too much for me to ditch you.”

Connor relaxes almost imperceptibly. He opens his mouth to say something, but the waiter returns, and he thanks the android again.

Hank grudgingly has to admit that Gavin’s right: Connor does need to loosen up. Thankfully, this is exactly the right environment to get him to ease up and take a break from the usual stresses.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fireplace/Memories

He watches the flames whittle down the wood, black inking its way through the threads of brown to lift up vibrant waves of orange and yellow.

Though the fire crackles and the wind whistles outside, the cabin couldn’t be more quiet. With their skiing session concluded and the sun dipped down to its lowest point, the group had taken to their cabin for dinner. They settled on homemade pizza, having enough ingredients packed to make two large ones. Sumo got a modest amount of kibble and, much to Connor’s distaste, a helping of bacon on account of Hank.

The interior of the cabin is small. Gavin usually isn’t one for small spaces, especially when it involves being squished in with his two co-workers, but it’s homely enough. There’s a small couch and table prefacing the fireplace, a bookshelf in the corner, a small kitchen to the right and a door to the left leading to two double beds. There had been more than a couple arguments over who slept where. Hank was the one who ended up with a bed to himself; something about ‘old man bones.’ Sumo’s planned to sleep in the bed, too, though Gavin’s not sure how well that’ll pan out with the cleaners.

He’s sat with Hank at the fire, both pairs of hands held out to soak in the warmth. Sumo’s leaning against his thigh, face spread out on the soft rug below. He’s readier to sleep than they are, and he didn’t even go skiing.

“You not gonna join us, princess?” Gavin calls to Connor, who’s staring out one of the windows like a wistful child.

Connor turns his head to look at their scene and smiles, small and crooked. “Sorry. I’m coming.”

Gavin gives him a once over. “Would’ve thought you’d be freezing by now.” He gestures to Connor’s outfit; a blue shirt, jeans and a thin jacket. “I’d dress like that at the end of _Summer_.”

“Some people enjoy the cold,” Connor says and kneels down to give Sumo a scratch behind the ears. “Or are simply more resistant and don’t complain while we’re climbing back up the hill.”

Gavin snorts, “Smartass.”

“More quiet than Detroit, eh?” Hank says. He shifts aside to make room for Connor, who nestles down on Sumo’s other side. “We’ll have to fall asleep to something other than the sounds of never-ending construction. Such a shame.”

“You think this is quiet?” Gavin says. “Back in Camp Greyling, when everyone’s bunked down, you wouldn’t hear a _thing_. Nothing but you and your tinnitus.”

Connor’s staring at him and there’s an all too familiar stagnancy in the air that makes his belly pit. “How come you left? You’re always saying how close you came to being a National Guard.”

It’s a question Gavin’s heard many times, all of which he’s never cared to entertain. He brags about it, mostly to get his way; who would stand up to someone with military training? Connor and Hank were one of the few that still gave him shit despite knowing his background. But there’s one aspect of his history he tends not to touch: the _why_ of the situation. How does one, the best of their unit, drop down to a security guard? Gavin pulls his hands away from the fire and rests one atop Sumo’s big head. The fur parts under the pads of his fingers. It’s smooth, slightly greasy, like he imagines Hank’s hair would be.

He takes a steadying breath. It’s been years. He knows Hank well, as well as he thinks he could, and Connor might be fresh meat in their eyes but he’s proved his hardiness.

“I was replaced by an android,” he says. “Most of us were.”

“They’re trusting them with our military now?” Hank wrinkles his nose. He doesn’t seem phased- he’s had to cop the change of androids, too.

Gavin shakes his head. “Only the Guard so far. When I was removed it was a trial run. Camp’ll probably get shut down soon, I’d bet.”

“But why?” Connor presses, as usual. He’s always got a stick to jab one of them with. “Were the men not competent enough?”

Gavin closes his eyes. “The military’s great for a career. You get paid shitloads, keep fit, make a name for yourself. But, they don’t treat you like… people, you know? You’re soldiers, through and through. Some departments are easier, but if you hold a gun and stomp your boots, they’ll treat you the same as they did the other soldiers when they were in training.” He opens his eyes to stare directly at Connor, hoping the message is implied with the combined force of his words, “It affects your mental health.”

Connor purses his lips, considering, then nods slowly. “I see.”

Hank gives Gavin a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, and he naturally shies away. He’s fine, really- it’s the ones who weren’t that deserved the comfort.

“I get it, but… _fuck_ , some people got cast out to the streets for that. The Guard was all they had for money and now that the androids are taking up retail and hospitality too, they got nothing.” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

“How long do you think it’ll be before we’re pushed out of our jobs?” Hank asks. He follows it with a cynical chuckle and Gavin joins. Connor doesn’t. He sits with his hands folded neatly on his lap and stares down.

It’s _already_ a reality, they know that. Several divisions have started incorporating androids into their work. Gavin’s already got some jobs on the backlog, just in case, and he’s sure Connor does too- he’s careful like that. Smart and capable, as much as Gavin takes the piss out of him. Hank, though? He looks over the man, his unkempt hair and tired eyes, and thinks retirement is what’s left for his future.

Gavin shakes his head and looks away. “What about you, Connor?”

“Me?”

He’s so dense sometimes. Gavin speaks slower, “What were you doing before you joined up?”

Connor pauses just long enough to flare up a spark of uneasiness in Gavin. The aura of tension that passes over his brows followed by tendrils of upset in the eyes tells him he’s pushing into something he shouldn’t be. What secrets would someone like him hold, anyways? Hank’s story is the most tragic Gavin’s had the displeasure of hearing. He’s not sure he wants to hear something to compare.

Hank’s raised his head and is looking over Connor with that deep frown of his. “You don’t have to tell us if you don’t wanna, kid. It’s alright.”

“Androids kick you out, too?” Gavin asks. It occurs to him that Connor’s never shared _anything_ of his personal life. Small anecdotes here and there, relating to one of their own, but he’s yet to give them a big picture on the man he is.

Connor smiles. It’s uncertain. “I worked in a diner. I was one of the waiting staff for a long time… maybe a year or two?” His eyes graze the left of Gavin’s face, past him and back to the window. “I was getting good pay. We weren’t too popular, not enough that we’d be swamped with work, so I enjoyed it there.”

Gavin scrutinises his perfect, pale skin. “How’d you go from a waiter to a _security guard_?”

Connor’s eyes snap back to him and his eyes furrow the slightest, a challenge to Gavin’s own frown. “Networking is more important than you’d think.”

The fire’s stirring in front of them as if it senses Gavin’s focus and curiosity, wishing to incite it, make it _stronger_. The flames shoot upwards, dancing in the air, and he can see them reflecting in Connor’s doe-like eyes. Sumo shies away as a spark leaps from the fireplace and crackles onto the carpet. Gavin snuffs it out before it has a chance to spread.

He knows a man with secrets; Hank’s proof of that. He’s the most secretive of the three. He knows the gentle tells, easy to miss to one untrained, with the drop of an octave and the twitch of an eye. It’s hard to believe someone like Connor, with the physique of an agent and the ability to handle a gun better than some federal spies, would’ve worked somewhere as meek as a low-end diner.

“What’s the place called?” Hank pipes up. He knows the tells, too, but his voice is more innocent than Gavin’s. “Maybe I know it.”

Connor’s drifted elsewhere again. Gavin trails his stare to a bookshelf in the far corner. “Roald’s.”

Hank tilts his head. “Roald’s?”

Connor nods. “Yes. The man who founded it was called Roald Bear.”

There’s a pause, and just as Gavin’s ready to catch him in the bear trap, Hank shrugs his shoulder. “Never heard of it.”

He knows _all_ the fast food joints in Detroit. Observing Hank, he’s not looking at Connor anymore and he doesn’t seem irked. In fact, he seems disinterested. He’s probably oblivious, Gavin thinks, or too lazy to read into the undertones.

His brooding is sliced by the man in question, who’s turned to face him. “Why are you lookin’ so grumpy? We’re meant to be on vacation here.”

“Right…” What’s gotten into him? He’s not a detective, and there’s no reason to be stressing Connor out. They’re out to have fun. Gavin draws a breath then cocks a smirk Hank’s way. “Just thinking about how stupid the name ‘Roald Bear’ is.”

“Alright, Gavin Reed.” Connor’s lightened up too, his shoulders relaxed along with the creases on his forehead. He smiles at Gavin like their momentary headbutt had never happened.

Hank rolls his eyes, “Can’t you two go _five_ minutes?” The grandfather clock by the outskirts of the kitchen chimes. “It’s late, and I’m old. I’m going to bed.” He rubs his hands in front of the fire for an extra blanket of warm air before rising, clicking his tongue to Sumo. Sumo barks and rises to his oversized paws, padding after his master.

Connor leaves not long after. He doesn’t seem eager to keep talking to Gavin, which suits him just fine. It may be awkward when they climb into the same bed, though. Gavin hopes he’s not a fidgeter… or a kicker with legs like he has.

On the bright side, the moment of solitude lets him wander over to the bookshelf and peruse the selection, to see what had been so fascinating mid-conversation. The selection is mostly children’s books, likely left from a family that had stayed in the past.

Gavin raises his eyebrows when he sees the two that catch his eye, side by side.

 _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ and _Winnie the Pooh_.

He’s _too_ obvious.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Snowed In/Traditions

Connor wakes at four in the morning.

The silence is unsettling. It’s nothing like the city, where even at night the intermittent car will drive past or the distant bark of a dog will ring out through the streets. All he hears now is the creak of the cabin and the sounds of his companions deep in sleep. Hank snores beneath the weight of Sumo, sprawled out atop him, and Gavin lies beside Connor, face slack in unconsciousness. He’s stolen most of the blankets, apparently losing any inhibitions about sharing a bed in his sleep, leaving Connor half-covered.

The change in temperature must have woken him. He slips out of bed as silently as possible. Gavin could wake with the slightest sound, and Hank—well, as long as he’s quieter than Sumo would be, Hank won’t wake. Connor steps past the floorboards he identified as creaky last night and steps out of the bedroom, pushing the door nearly shut behind him.

The temperature is seven degrees cooler in the main living area. Despite his bare feet and thin pajamas, Connor doesn’t feel it. Soft white light illuminates the curtains from outside as the moonlight bounces off the snow. After a glance around the room to check for anomalies or danger—an ingrained, redundant habit—Connor takes a moment to peek out the window, pulling the curtain aside to view their humble back deck.

The sight takes his breath away. Stars fill the sky and the snow glows under the moonlight, creating an ethereal atmosphere. It’s even more wondrous than a movie set could capture. Connor stares at the stars, losing all sense of time as their twinkle holds his attention.

It’s the first time he’s seen the stars. Detroit may be moving towards clean energy, but they may never cut the light pollution down enough to unveil the raw night sky.

If it weren’t for the fact that it would let the cold in, Connor would open the window and reach out to touch the snow before him, powdery and soft. It’s so unlike the slush of the city or the wicked, biting blizzard he had to fight to escape the binds of the zen garden. He could step outside if he wanted, and he’s tempted to experience the marvel of the beautiful winter weather in the enchanting early morning atmosphere, but the risk of waking the others is too high. They deserve their rest after so much exertion yesterday.

That, and the snow is 32.3 inches deep.

Connor takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. It doesn’t feel real, sometimes, that he gets to live a normal life. He’s got a normal apartment, a normal job, and normal coworkers, and now he gets to experience his first normal vacation. No one’s holding his leash or hunting him down. He’s free and safe. It’s all going to be okay.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt to fabricate his own history and lie to the people he considers his friends. He’s been making it all up as he goes along, and it’s clear that Gavin is starting to pick up on that. Gavin’s more clever than he looks, and Connor respects that. Connor knows his waffling, vague answers about himself can’t last forever. He wonders when Gavin’s going to pick up that Connor doesn’t even have any gastrointestinal issues, only a too-small plastic stomach. (Though if he were to be pedantic, lacking a digestive system technically counts as a GI concern.) It’s hard enough to hide the fact that he doesn’t sweat.

It isn’t worth worrying about right now. They won’t suspect he’s anything but human because that would be ridiculous. They see him as a person, and therefore, human. With any luck, that won’t ever change.

Connor watches the snow fall until the sun rises, filling the sky with pink and orange. Snow continues to fall. He turns his sensors up so he can hear the faint sound of clumps falling to the ground, only turning them back down when he finally hears someone stirring from the other room.

Hank shuffles out first, Sumo at his heels. “How long’ve you—Jesus Christ, how’d all that snow get here?”

“The sky, Hank.”

“Smartass,” Hank grumbles. He plods over to the coffee maker, going through the motions to set on a pot. “God, they don’t even have a smart coffee machine. How old is this thing? And why haven’t you made any coffee yet?”

“I only got up half an hour ago.” It’s 8:19. He left the bedroom four hours and twenty-seven minutes ago. “Is Gavin awake?”

“Still in bed, tapping away at something on his phone. Hey, do we have a shovel? Sumo’s gotta go out.” Hank grabs a mug from the cupboard, inspects it, and apparently deems it suitable, setting it atop the counter.

“I can take care of that,” Connor offers. He hasn’t dressed, still in a shirt and lounge pants—unlike Hank, who’s shivering slightly in jeans and a sweatshirt, socks on his feet—but the chill doesn’t phase Connor the same way. He steps away from the window, pulling on his boots and coat from their spots beside the front door. They’ve dried out from the night before in front of the floor vent. He grabs the snow shovel from inside the mostly empty coat closet, which houses only hangers, supplies, and a tub of salt. Sumo stands halfway between Hank and Connor as if uncertain who’s going to take him outside.

“Hey,” Hank calls. Connor pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “Don’t forget gloves, you dolt. I don’t want to spend the rest of this vacation thawing out your fingers.”

“Of course.” Connor takes the gloves out from his coat pocket and puts them on, raising his hands and wiggling his fingers for Hank to see.

When he opens the front door, the snow almost reaches his knees. Sumo bolts outside straight into the powdery snow, bumbling down the front steps like he can actually see where he’s going. Connor’s breath catches, but he breathes a sigh of relief when Sumo reaches the ground without falling over.

Snow continues to fall. Connor shuts the door and gets to work clearing a space around their front door so Sumo has room to stretch his legs and they’ll be able to salt the stairs. He initiates a blush protocol in response to the cold and grins, unable to help the delight at being outside in this much snow for the first time in his life.

He puts his head down and gets to work, with Sumo and fantasies of skiing down steep mountain slopes to keep him company as Hank and Gavin remain in the warmth.

* * *

As it turns out, no one wants to trudge through that much snow to go skiing. It turns the day into a lazy one with TV, cards, and an impromptu snowball fight which turns heated, given everyone’s competitive natures. There’s leftover pizza for lunch, and for dinner, Gavin insists on making chili, promising it to be the best damn chili they’ve ever tasted.

“It’s got beans,” Hank says. “You’ve ruined it before it’s even started.”

That’s how they end up with two pots simmering away in the kitchen: One with beans and Gavin’s secret spice blend, the other without beans and with whatever seasonings Hank has managed to cobble together with their limited stock. When Hank dumps a packet of spaghetti into boiling water, Gavin grumbles something about an unfair advantage but doesn’t protest.

The competition gives Connor the excuse of skipping lunch in anticipation, even if he does get side-eyed for it.

He begins to regret that decision when two bowls of chili and a plate of spaghetti are placed in front of him. “Hate to say it, but you’ve gotta be the unbiased judge, Connor,” Hank says. “Eat up.”

“Would now be a bad time to tell you I don’t have any taste buds?” Connor teases. He can eat a little under half the food he’s been served before he needs to make space for more.

“You’re not getting out that easy,” Gavin says before digging in.

Connor sighs, spoons some of Gavin’s chili onto the pasta, and eats. He can identify exactly what he’s eating, down to the ingredients. It’s a unique combination that he has not experienced before, and based on his analysis, he determines that the dish is mildly spicy, well salted, and nutritious. What he says, in the end, is “It’s good,” which prompts Gavin to grin smugly at Hank. “It has a wonderful smoky flavor. The tomato is well balanced, there isn’t too much fat from the beef, and the caramelized onion gives it a nice depth of flavor.”

“You’re goddamn right it’s good,” Gavin says. He’s eating straight from the bowl, no spaghetti accompaniment, perhaps to spite Hank.

That’s great for Connor, because he feels like he has too much information in his head after downloading the transcripts of twelve different cooking show features about chili, and he’d hate for all that to be for nothing. “Do you normally do this kind of thing? Chili competitions?”

Hank laughs. “God, no. Well, we used to. Back when I was with the DPD. We did that for a few years, but phased it out in favor of a holiday potluck. Still ended up with a fuckton of chili.”

“I never worked anywhere long enough to get into holiday celebrations,” Gavin says. “Moved out when I was eighteen and I’ve kept my own traditions since. Usually I invite Tina over on Christmas and we grab takeout, go through a couple six-packs, and watch a bunch of movies. Home Alone, Die Hard, maybe marathon Star Wars or something. Her family celebrates the day before, so she’s free.”

“Do you guys at least wear Santa hats?” Hank asks.

“I string up some lights and hang a few candy canes. The only Santas we get are the little chocolate ones. It’s a hell of a lot better than performing festivity for your family.”

“How do you celebrate, Hank?” Connor asks. He spoons some of Hank’s chili over his spaghetti. The lack of beans makes the dish less rounded, but he is interested in comparing the makeup and mouthfeel of the two dishes.

“I don’t.”

“No? Do you celebrate something else?”

“Nope.” Hank’s mouth draws into a thin line.

“He doesn’t hate Christmas,” Gavin says, “he’s just sour. I got him a mug last year. It’s that one sits on his desk the few times we’re in the office.”

“The one that violates the workplace profanity policy. I’m familiar.” Connor nods. Given the limited information he has, he cannot narrow down why Hank does not celebrate, which frustrates him. It could be that Hank never celebrated anything, or that he has negative associations with the holidays as a result of his ex-wife, or the depression resulting from the divorce and the loss of his child...

An attempt to research Hank’s social media history leads Connor to the discovery that cell service is down in the area. He hides his discomfort at that by eating more of the chili.

The chili is, at once, interesting and bland. The parts—eaten all at once—give him a unique set of data similar to yet clearly different from Gavin’s chili. The consistency is more soupy and there is more grease. On that alone, Connor would have to write this off as worse, but he honestly has no idea how it tastes.

He reviews one of the downloaded transcripts involving a Cincinnati-style chili. “The flavors are bright and distinct, but I’m not sure I’d call this chili. It’s more like a thin sauce than a substantial stew.”

“‘I’m not sure I’d call this chili,’” Hank repeats, in a mocking voice. “Jackass. It tastes better and you know it.”

There is a second where Connor is torn, wanting to aggree with Hank’s determination in order to fit in, but he errs on the side of consistency. “It’s a close call, but I think Gavin wins this one. To be fair, he planned ahead by bringing exactly what he needed.”

Hank nods. “He cheated. Glad we’re in agreement.”

“I won,” Gavin counters. “Suck it.” He leans back, crossing his arms and savoring his victory. “So, Con. You got any plans for when we get back? Decorating, get yourself a gift?”

“I haven’t celebrated much of anything since I moved away from home,” Connor says, taking a card from Gavin’s story. “We’d order in something special for lunch when I worked at Roald’s. Individually…” His eyes drift to the snow still falling outside the window against the black of the sky. Another half foot accumulated today, and according to the forecast earlier, that should slow to a stop overnight. “I used to have a dog. We’d take walks after it snowed. I still do. It’s nice to see the city lit up with Christmas lights.”

That part, at least, is true.

“Do you ever think of calling your family or spending time with them again?” Hank asks. His voice is subdued. “Whatever’s gone on between you, is that something you can repair?”

Connor hesitates. If he were human, he thinks there would be some way to fix that sort of broken bond, some way to reach back out to the people who raised him or were raised beside him. But he isn’t. He was made by people who would have killed him had they known he was trying to escape. Still would, if they ever caught him.

He can’t answer this one with a lie. “No. I severed those ties when I left.” He clears his throat, reaches up to adjust a tie that isn’t there, and plasters on a smile. “Who wants to play some more poker?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Confession

Guilt’s a funny thing.

Like the ocean, it rises. The waves begin to lash at your sides, pulling at your pores, threatening to drag you beneath their frosted white blankets of foam. From there you would sink, weightless in theory, but the pressure of the water pushing down on your chest until you lack to strength to carry yourself ashore.

Of course, that’s a rather dramatic way of looking at it. Something you’d see fabricated in a novel. Connor knows that.

"You gonna stare at that tap forever?”

Connor tucks his hands back against his sides and breaks his ties with the tap. It was running warm water over his fingers. Now it’s trickling emptily into the drain of the sink. The way the water moves is mesmerising, almost as much as the stars were.

“I was just thinking,” he said.

Hank rolls his eyes. “You only needed to run them under for a couple seconds, just ‘till the water’s warm.” He walks to Connor’s side and switches the tap off. Connor instantly misses the sound of the water running down its sides. “No need to gallivant in the meantime.”

Connor’s only response is a light puff of air as he dries his hands with a tea towel.

Fresh off the morning, they’d taken a walk in the snow. It had thawed out nicely enough, contrary to the day before where the front door struggled to slide past the onslaught. It was as pleasant as it could be, and Connor enjoyed the way Sumo nipped at the snowflakes in the air. Hank always calls him lazy, an old bag of bones, but he’s always suspected it was nothing more than a projection. Sumo loves the outdoors; he loves to explore just as any young puppy would.

Connor had forgotten his gloves and Hank had forgotten to remind him. He feigned frostbite, shielding his hands from prying eyes and fabricating a pain he couldn’t feel. Gavin wasn’t pleased about heading back, though he must’ve forgotten to relieve himself before they left as he headed straight to the toilet when they arrived back at the cabin.

“What’s wrong?”

Hank’s using his ‘dad voice’, as Gavin likes to call it. It’s jovial but firm in nature and it means Hank’s seen something Connor’s failed to hide.

“Nothing,” Connor says and puts on his best front. “I’m just a little tired. Gavin kicks.”

It’s enough to dissuade Hank. He chortles heartily and pats Connor on the shoulder with a rough hand. “You should try sleeping with Sumo, kid.”

Sumo yips at the mention of his name, turning the corner from the bathroom with Gavin in tow. His hair is a mess and his jacket’s covered in snow from the walk. “Are we going back out?”

Hank looks to Connor as if he’s the deciding factor. He stares back with innocuous eyes.

“Yeah. We’ll go check out one of the gift shops. See if we can find Sumo a toy,” Hank says, leaving Connor’s side in favour of grabbing Sumo’s leash, placed neatly on the coffee table.

The snow’s the same as how they left it: thick, but not thick enough their boots couldn’t work with it. Hank and Gavin are wrapped up in layers upon layers, Gavin’s puffy jacket a crimson red as opposed to Hank’s deep green. Connor’s outfit is lighter, a cool blue, though he made sure to grab gloves on their way out. Sumo’s thick fur shields him from the cold just as much as it draws the snow in. His patches of vibrant brown are faint beneath a light covering of white flakes.

The gift shop’s a ways away from the cabin, close to where they checked in. Normally it’d be a tourist’s first stop but Hank always insists that gifts are something you get towards the end of a trip. They’re only a couple days away from leaving, so Connor believes its close enough. They crunch through the snow for a half hour before they arrive. Sumo’s already tried to chase after a few birds, tiring himself out from the pulling by the time they’re at the door.

Gavin’s face contorts with disdain when they enter. At the counter is an android. They’re smiling passively with their arms crossed; nothing to be upset with, but Connor reminds himself of Gavin’s past. Giving the android a quick scan he’s able to identify it as an EM400 model. They’re popular with tourist locations, especially theme parks.

Hank sifts through the immediate shelf while Gavin presses forward to the back of the store. On Hank’s shelf are figurines of the local wildlife. There isn’t much; few species remain in the area. White foxes, hares, owls. All the species that breed fast enough to survive in such a sporadic world. Connor looks over the selection himself, then picks up a fox figurine. It fits in the palm of his head and looks to be carved from wood. He tilts it on its side and raises his eyebrows. Right on the temple is a pale blue ring.

“Eh?” Hank squints at it. “That’s odd.”

“Perhaps it was an error,” Connor says. Of course, no one believes it, not even himself. The circle is too deliberate.

Hank nods to the android at the counter. “Ask about it.”

Connor’s not thrilled to interact with them but he nods and leaves Hank to peruse the other figures. The android meets his eyes with a vacancy that tightens his chest.

“Hello,” they say. They don’t blink. “How can I help you?”

Connor places the fox gently down on the counter between them. “I was wondering about this figure. It’s different from the others.”

The android plucks it from the counter surface and examines it. “This is a limited figurine,” they say. “In accordance with the release of android wildlife, our stock now includes merchandise for them. Were you looking to purchase this?”

“Uh...”

Connor’s barely allowed time to think. Gavin’s squeezed himself into the fray, having listened to their conversation. “ _Android_ wildlife, huh? Jesus, it never ends.” He takes the figure from the android and pulls it close to one eye. “You’re not actually gonna buy it, are you?”

“Can you tell me more about this ‘android wildlife’?” Connor asks.

“Of course.” The android’s temple runs yellow as they prioritise information. “Five months ago, our resort was asked by CyberLife to be the testing grounds for a new experiment: newly developed android animals. They’re designed to integrate seamlessly with the existing wildlife, mimicking their behaviours and environmental preferences.” They smile at Gavin. “The fox is one of our most esteemed. We have two advanced models on site.”

“Wouldn’t, you know, a _breeding program_ be better?” Gavin says.

The android isn’t meant to respond to that. Connor snatches the figure from Gavin’s grasp and places it back on the counter. “I’ll buy it. How much does it cost?”

“Thirty dollars.”

“ _Thirty?”_ Gavin splutters. “It’s a wooden toy!”

Connor pulls his wallet from the pocket of his pants and readies his card. The payment’s smooth, though he wishes Gavin weren’t there so he could interface. He pockets the figure and departs from Gavin’s critical eyes. As always, they tail him anyways.

“Such a waste of money.”

“To you,” Connor says. “I happen to quite like foxes.”

Their visit lasts a short while after. Gavin grouches about a lack of interesting items and Hank grabs Sumo a toy rope to chew on. Connor doesn’t buy anything else, and he can’t seem to keep his hand out of his pocket, running his thumb along the texture of the fox figurine.

**\--*--**

The fire doesn’t have the same energy it did before.

He can feel the waves in his head beginning to stir, crashing against a dam. He’s sat by the window, fox in his palm and back turned. Hank’s out like a light in the bedroom with Sumo. Gavin’s asleep in an empty bed.

Or, he was, but the footfalls coming closer to Connor suggest otherwise.

“It’s three in the morning. Why’re you out here?” There’s a yawn in his voice and he can hear him rubbing at his eyes. Gavin’s not one to be emotional, whether it be speaking of his own or showing sensitivity towards others. The gentleness he takes when seating himself next to Connor is a welcome change of pace. There’s no pressure from him.

“Why are you awake?” Connor asks.

Gavin laughs quietly. “Realised I had too much room in the bed.”

Connor throws him a look. They all know who the blanket hog is.

Gavin points to his open palm. “Is that the toy you bought?”

“It’s not a toy,” Connor says, curling his fingers around it.

“My niece would say otherwise,” Gavin says.

They share a comfortable silence moments before the first trickles of water spill through the cracking dam wall.

“Do you think the others know?” Connor asks. He doesn’t look at Gavin, focused only on the fox.

“Others?”

“The foxes.”

“Oh.” Gavin furrows his brow. He’s really… thinking about it. “It did say _seamlessly_. And even the uptight _human_ androids could blend in if they weren’t so blue.”

Connor rubs the top of the fox’s head with his thumb. “Do you think they’d still like it? Even if they knew?”

“Is this really what’s keeping you up?” Gavin shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his scarred nose. “They’re animals. Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah.” Connor nods slowly. “You’re right.”

Gavin reaches over to pat his knee. “I’m going back to bed. You coming?”

Connor glances out the window again. “Give me a few minutes.” When Gavin lingers, he smiles small at him. “I’m okay.”

It’s much longer than a few minutes before he returns to the pack. He leaves his fox on the windowsill.

**\--*--**

When he admits it, they’re on ice.

The morning starts with a weight on his chest that he can’t ignore. The trip’s coming to a close and he doesn’t want to go back to pretending. He doesn’t want to force himself to drink, force himself to eat; force himself to breathe.

“I want to tell you something,” he says to Gavin.

“What?”

“...Sumo’s come inside wet.”

They’re mopping the wooden floors, drying it down with towels, and he says again, “I have to tell you something.”

Gavin gathers the damp towels in a bundle in his arms. “What?”

Connor falters at the last minute. “I think we should go skating before we leave.”

Hank’s apprehensive about spending money on more rented gear but he rarely objects to Connor’s wishes. They return their skis and trade them in for ice skating boots, heading down to one of the frozen lakes. They strip down as much as the cold weather will allow to manage their weight and meet at the edge of the ice.

Hank pushes Gavin onto the glossy surface and he glides along, stumbles then falls. “You’re an asshole!” He yells.

Hank chuckles and turns to Connor. “You’re next.”

Connor tilts his head. “You’re not skating with us?”

“Me? Nah.” Hank looks down at Sumo, sprawled in the snow at his feet. “My graceful days passed a while ago.”

Connor adjusts well to the ice, sliding to Gavin with ease and offering him a dainty hand to help him up. Gavin bats it away and rises to his feet himself, wobbling then bending forwards. Connor catches him and steadies him, keeping a hand on his shoulder for balance.

“Slowly,” he says, tugging at Gavin’s collar and edging forwards. They glide along the ice together, a slow pace and in circles. Out of the corner of his eye, Connor catches a glimmer of white amongst the powdered greenery. The words leave him before he can realise.

“I need to tell you something.”

Gavin’s face is scrunched up with concentration. He eyes Connor. “Again? What is it now?”

Their movements are becoming rougher and more laboured. Gavin’s feet move in and out of place. Even Connor is finding the ice to be more slippery than it was just a moment before. Hank’s waving in the distance, attempting to hail them over. Scanning him, there doesn’t seem to be anything dire around him.

“I’m an android.”

“What?”

The ice cracks under Gavin’s boots.

That’s why Hank was yelling. Connor had gotten too lost in his motives to bother to listen. He enhances his audio processors to hear the man’s cries; “Stay right where you are! _Fuck_ , if I knew _this_ was gonna happen...”

He glances down at the dark waters. Gavin’s splashing around, keeping himself afloat, but it wouldn’t last for long. The waters are freezing. The temperatures will wrap chains of ice around his bones and sink him to the floor. The ice under Connor’s feet is thinning as well. He extends an arm to Gavin. He grabs on, and the combined weight is too much.

“Connor, what did I –!”

Hank’s words become distorted and airy as Connor submerges. His sleeves are rolled down and Gavin’s nails are digging into his skin, drawing back the synthetic cream to reveal a stark white. He’s not looking at it, not that he can see. Connor wishes he was. Everything beneath the ice is dark and dreary. Light comes in beams, easy to slip through and cover yourself with the darkness.

He kicks his legs to propel himself upwards and meets Gavin at the surface. He hooks his arms around the man’s waist and pushes him. He’s stronger than a human. He can _throw_ him, and he does. He tosses Gavin over the ice, far enough that he can begin to scramble to the thicker edges of the ice lake.

The temperature in his core is dropping and his joints are going to start freezing up. He pulls himself up so his elbows are secure on the ice. The water laps over it and threatens to pull him back down. Gavin’s reached the snow and he looks back at him. But he doesn’t come back to help. Maybe it’s because he’s an android. Or maybe it’s because he’s not stupid.

Hank’s jogging over. He’s already removed his jacket and drapes it around Gavin’s shoulders.

Connor feels something tug at his left sleeve and pull.

“Sumo?”

He doesn’t have the room to linger on it for long. He pushes along with the dog until he’s out of the water and can wriggle away. Moving slowly and deliberately across the ice, crawling on his elbows, the water no longer licks at his feet. Sumo doesn’t leave his side; he’s lighter, the ice isn’t as much of a concern for him. The commotion must’ve woken him up.

“You’re a good boy, Sumo.” Connor whispers.

There’s not much exchange when they regroup, just a silent relief. They head back to the cabin and Hank starts up the fire, tossing about the wood and letting it crackle. Connor and Gavin are cocooned with their respective blankets, Sumo wedged between them for added warmth.

Gavin’s not speaking to him. Does he even remember what Connor said? Had he even heard correctly?

Connor feigns clearing his throat. “I’m sorry about that.”

Gavin frowns at him. “Why’re you apologising? Not like you cracked the ice yourself.”

Connor looks away. That wasn’t what he was apologising for. He keeps his head low as he faces Gavin again, “Did you...”

“Yeah.” Gavin’s face is illuminated by the flames. His eyes seem to glow. “I saw it, too.”

Connor wraps a hand around his arm absentmindedly.

“Are you two gonna tell me what we’re talking about, or am I gonna have to play detective?” Hank’s figure looms behind them. He’s standing with his arms crossed against his chest, looking down on them like a disappointed father.

“I’m an android,” Connor says before Gavin has a chance to divert the subject.

Hank smiles. “I figured.”

“What?” Gavin’s head snaps towards him and he scowls. “You’re bullshitting.”

Hank moves to sit beside Connor, crouching slowly and grunting as his knees cracked. He looks at Connor with a familiar fondness. “You always struck me as special. Just couldn’t put my finger on it.” He holds Connor’s wrist and pushes an object into his palm. “Here. Thought you might want this.”

It’s the wooden fox. Connor had forgotten about leaving it. “Thanks,” he says. Then, alternating his stare between Gavin and Hank, he frowns lightly. “You don’t… hate me?”

“I think if you were a terminator sent to wipe out the human race, you would’ve done it by now.” Hank pats him on the head. It ruffles his hair, but he doesn’t mind. “You’ve shown us more humanity than most humans. We’d be idiots to forget that.”

Connor glances at Gavin.

Gavin inclines his head and sighs heavily. As Connor prepares for the worst, he looks him in the eye. “Thanks for saving my ass.”

Connor knows that’s the most he’ll get.

“We’ve got two days left,” Hank says. “Let’s make the most of it before we’re back on guard duty, yeah? Then we’ll deal with the gritty shit.”

Connor was sure they had a million questions. The dark lines on Gavin’s face said that loud and clear. He had a million _answers_ he wanted to give. But, surrounded by his friends, his _family,_ being offered a chance to live among them and not have to pretend. Not have to force himself into the shoes of a person who didn’t exist, not have to make up stories that only existed in his mind… he wanted to revel in it as long as he could.

“Okay,” Connor says. Sumo bumps his knee with his snout.

They stay huddled in front of the fire for hours. They make conversation, they laugh and they poke at Gavin for the faces he made while stumbling around on the ice. And for the first time since his activation, Connor felt truly secure. He wasn’t running; he didn’t have to. The shadows on his back were all that much dimmer and the stars in the night sky didn’t seem so distant.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
